


Bitter and Sweet

by Mirimea



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Romance, Shorts, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirimea/pseuds/Mirimea
Summary: A collection of short stories for The Book of Mormon. Please see individual chapters for pairings, rating and warnings.





	1. Animal adoption

**Author's Note:**

> This is the next step in my attempt to archive even my shortest short stories here on AO3, since it is starting to feel a bit redundant to post <1000 word stories as stand-alones. Most of these have already been posted on my tumblr @notlikelionking. Nevertheless, I always love to hear what you think! 
> 
> For this story: McPriceley, established relationship, post-canon, sfw.

In retrospect, Connor should probably have expected it when Arnold gets that part time job at the animal shelter, because in the end it only takes two days before Arnold is ringing the doorbell and enters their apartment with a cardboard box in his arms.

“Naba only let me keep two,” Arnold says, sounding frantic. “The shelter is full, so they were gonna put them down. They were going to _kill_ them, buddy.”

With that type of plea, it is not like Kevin can say no.

Or at least that is the story he tells Connor when he comes home an hour later and finds Kevin sitting at the kitchen table with a tiny, ginger kitten in his palm, feeding it with what turns out to be warm sugar water.

Two conflicting emotions become locked in mortal combat in Connor’s mind at the sight.

Their apartment is small, he thinks. He is not even sure that their landlord allows pets in the building. And cats have claws, they have fur, and there will be a litter box to clean, and Connor’s sister is allergic, and–

Look, the other side of his brain interrupts. Your boyfriend is holding a kitten.

And that is all that is needed for a winning blow.

“We’re naming it Princess”, Connor says and takes care to pull a chair out without making too much noise. He sits down, notices the webpage about caring for newborn kittens that is open on the tablet.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a boy,” Kevin replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he gives Connor a quick glance.

Connor feels a smile begin tug at his lips as well as he warms up to the idea. “So?”

In due time, the kitten is going to sleep under the covers and will claw at their legs when they accidentally kick him. He will chew on their potted plants and he will work systematically to pull off each and every pearl and sequin that Connor has ever sewn onto a piece of clothing. He will look handsome in the scarves they buy him, have terrible balance, and a baffling tendency to get stuck in drawers.  

But for now, Connor is busy falling a little more in love with his boyfriend as he watches him cradle the tiny sleeping kitten to his chest while he formally recites the words to the Mormon naming rite, and announces its name to be ‘Princess’.


	2. Dance class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McKinley + Kevin, post-canon, post-Uganda.

“Oh,” Kevin says, just barely managing to put his glass away on a side-table in time. “Uh.”

“Just follow my lead.” Connor tries to smile as convincingly as possible while he drags Kevin along to the steps of a regular waltz, one of few slow dances that the band has played this evening. But then, this is _Thomas’_ wedding so Connor has no right to complain about the music. Kevin stumbles along for a couple of seconds, then seems to find his footing; Connor is gratified and surprised when Kevin even rests his hand on Connor’s back properly--in the position of the leader, but still. “Hey, I didn’t know you could dance.”

“I can’t.” Kevin sounds embarrassed even as he semi-elegantly follows Connor across over the dance floor. “My mom taught me the basic steps but–” He trails off and bites his lip, brows furrowing. 

“Well, you’re doing better than most,” Connor assures him, trying not to melt in the way that he so commonly does when it concerns Kevin Price. Even now, years later and separated by several state lines for most of the year–well. Everyone has a weakness, right?

“Thanks,” Kevin smiles brightly at him for a moment before he seems to realize something. “Where’s your date, anyway?”

Connor works very hard to keep his smile from slipping off his face. “Not here.”

“Oh.” Kevin scans the room as though he expects to catch sight of Connor’s date making out with the best man–but no, that had been at Neely’s wedding. Connor knows better than to pick a guy who would do that again. One of the bridesmaids, however… “He seemed pretty–”

“Slow? Unintelligent? Stupid?”

“I was going to say that he was a man of few words,” Kevin finishes diplomatically even though he looks like he wants to laugh. Connor can feel him begin to fight for dominance as they glide across the dance floor and he smiles smugly, the thought of his failed date fading surprisingly quickly; if there is one thing that Kevin is not going to beat him at, it is dancing. Over Kevin’s shoulder he can see Naba giggling at them from where she is tucked under Arnold’s arm. She raises a glass to toast them from across the room; Connor smiles back before focusing on the dance steps.  

“I said to follow my lead.” Connor tightens his elbows, making sure to keep them both in the right position.

Kevin smiles at him, looking oddly serene. It is nice to see him like this - different from how high-strung he often was in Uganda, but it seems _right_. “My mom never taught me how to follow.”

“I’m teaching you now.” Kevin doesn’t protest, actually does stop his attempts at gaining control of the situation. He is a good student, _of course_ he is, Connor thinks. They move to the music without speaking for a while and Connor finds himself enjoying the silence between them. After everything that had gone down in Uganda, who would have thought that they would end up dancing together like this, years later, if only as friends.

“You didn’t bring a date, did you?” he asks, keeping his voice casual. It has been over three years since Kevin had brought a date to any of their meet-ups.

“Uh, no.” Kevin meets his eyes for a quick second before looking away. Connor opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. The music slows down until it comes to a stop so Connor steers them off to the side.

“Well, thank you for keeping me company.” He squeezes Kevin’s hands before letting go. “You saved my night.”

“My pleasure,” Kevin replies gallantly, looking so pleased with himself that Connor can’t help but leaning close and give him a peck on the cheek, allowing himself to very quickly marvel at the scent of Kevin’s after-shave. Surprisingly classy.  

When he pulls away, he thinks that he is probably imagining the way he thinks Kevin’s cheeks might have turned a bit pink. 


	3. Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pricingham, set in Uganda.

Sixteen months in and the heat is _still_ making Arnold nauseous; everything feels heavy and the crowds are making him dizzy until Kevin drags him into a store with actual air conditioning. It is a tiny place with cans of soda stacked on top of each other and, in the back, a freezer half-filled with unfamiliar-looking popsicles. Kevin grabs two with orange wrappers and pays for them, hands Arnold one with an almost sheepish smile. For the next few minutes Arnold gets to watch Kevin lick over the back of his thumb and between his thumb and index finger while his popsicle melts away too fast for him to keep up.

And once Arnold pays attention he notices droplets of sweat gathering at Kevin’s temples, the way his bangs drop heavily over his forehead, and there is a bit of delight peaking in his chest right then. It is the opposite of dread over seeing his idol falter, the opposite of delight over seeing his rival lose perfection. It is a warmth that spreads in Arnold’s chest–and then _further_ while he watches Kevin’s lips wrap around the dripping popsicle, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he closes his eyes.

Then, surprisingly, brown eyes are focusing on Arnold until he self-consciously licks his own mango popsicle, which is melting over his hand beyond his control.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Kevin sounds genuinely concerned in that way he always does about everything that has to do with Arnold, nowadays, as though he is still doing everything he can to be what Kevin perceives as being the best friend of someone. It sometimes reminds Arnold embarrassingly of _himself_ , but not quite, because Kevin’s isn’t desperate as much as _eager_ , and, well. The thought of that word does something to him that almost causes him to shiver, despite the heat.

Sometimes Arnold thinks that he might love Kevin in a sinful, forceful way that burns painfully beneath his skin.

It almost makes him angry, that Kevin so perfectly embodies everything that Arnold _wants_.

“Nothing,” Arnold says quickly, forcing a smile to calm Kevin’s confusion. “It’s just a bit warm, is all.”


	4. At the beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McPriceley, established relationship. Post-canon, post-Uganda.

The sand is a sharp annoyance between his toes and it burns the soles of his feet where they stretch outside the safe shade of the umbrella, but Connor cannot even work up the energy to care. This is the warmest summer he can remember–or rather, it is the warmest summer that he can remember _in America_ , and it is like he can’t get enough of popsicles and iced gazpachos. He hates the heat only slightly less than Kevin does, which is ridiculous, because Kevin doesn’t have to wear a hat to avoid severe sunburn or freckled skin; at most his nose might start peeling. But for all that Kevin is unable to do anything halfway, he is surprisingly bad at handling extremes in any other circumstances.

And–Connor can’t work up the energy to care about this, either.

Kevin, under the circumstances, is shirtless as often has he can get away with this August. When they go to the beach he prefers to stay in the water, and when he returns he will bring with him brief chill and a taste of salt. He will flick drops of water over Connor’s face and complain that he is being boring by staying in the shade, before stretching out on his back on the blanket and lamenting the lack of a breeze.

Connor, from his beach chair, will poke his boyfriend’s shoulder with his foot, let his magazine drop to the ground. “Go take another dip then.”

“Mm.” Kevin reaches for Connor’s foot but fails to grab it. “No.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.” Kevin sounds relaxed, maybe even sleepy. He should rinse the salt water out of his hair, Connor thinks, reaching down to grab his magazine. They have gone to the beach more often than they should lately; their skin is getting dry and their hair rough and stiff. He pokes Kevin with his foot again and this time Kevin manages to grab him, holds his foot in an awkward position, then rolls over to his side and lazily brushes sand from Connor’s toes.

“It tickles.“ Connor twitches away. “Go buy me a popsicle instead.”

“Sure.” Kevin stretches. “In a minute.”

Connor gives up his fantasy of another popsicle but smiles nonetheless. The magazine rests in his lap but he finds that he lacks the energy to read it. Instead he closes his eyes and stretches his feet out in the hot sand as he thinks about running his fingers through salt-water hair.


	5. Reading together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pricingham, established relationship, post-Uganda.

It takes years for Arnold to convince Kevin to read The Lord of the Rings, and when he finally succeeds it is only because of one February when Kevin comes down with the worst flu that Arnold has ever seen, the kind of flu that leaves Kevin unable to eat for days on end and has Arnold feeling somewhat panicked and wondering if maybe he should bring his boyfriend to the hospital.

And during the periods of time when Kevin is not stuck in fever dreams, he is too tired to watch TV and Arnold should focus on coming up with a subject for his bachelor thesis, so it feels like the perfect time for him to blow the dust off his old favorite books. And besides, Arnold knows that he is good at reading to people; at least, the congregation in Uganda used to enjoy it. He ends up having to lower his voice, however, because anything louder than an almost-whisper makes Kevin wince.

So over the course of the week Arnold reads, and Kevin doesn’t protest. He probably sleeps through some of it, or is too feverish to pick up on all the details. But he seems engaged enough with the overall storyline and he doesn’t seem to mind (or notice) if Arnold sometimes skips a song or adds a few descriptions to the narrative. Instead he curls up on his side and searches his pillow for cool spots, and Arnold doesn’t feel protective very often, but he does when he brushes Kevin’s bangs away to wipe his forehead with a damp cloth, when he helps Kevin stand and slowly shuffle to the bathroom with an arm across Arnold’s shoulders.

“I thought these books would be garbage,” Kevin confesses when he collapses back into bed after one of those expeditions, seemingly exhausted. “Cheap, you know? Like that TV show you’re always watching.”

"Game of Thrones is not cheap,” Arnold replies, horrified with the notion.

But Kevin curls up, tugs the covers up to his chin testily. “Jeez. Whatever.”

Arnold takes a couple of pills from the package and hands him along with a glass of water, lets the subject drop. “Wanna read or sleep?”

“Read,” Kevin says once he has swallowed his pills, eyes closed as though he is trying to pretend that he doesn’t have a headache.

Arnold only stops reading when he realizes that Kevin’s breathing has slowed down to an almost-snore. He keeps reading to himself for a while because Moria is his favorite part, and when he finally closes the book he allows himself a moment to study Kevin’s sleep-slack face, flushed cheeks, messy hair. From the depths of his mind comes a quote from Tolkien that he once read in one of his less boring literature classes.

_In the last resort, faith is an act of will, inspired by love._

He turns the words over in his mind for a while; makes a mental note to tell Kevin about it sometime when he is feeling better.

Then Arnold’s stomach begins to grumble, so he sets the book aside for now and drags himself into the kitchen to fix something to eat.


	6. Netflix marathons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McPriceley, post-Uganda, established relationship.

Kevin only ever snores when he falls asleep on the couch and Connor has yet to figure out if it is genuine or if he is simply faking it to make a point. He pinches the skin on Kevin’s lower arm between his thumb and index finger, shuffles closer when Kevin shivers and yawns.

“Your lack of interest in the royal family is _unholy_ , dear.” He shuffles further down, tilts his head back until he is almost resting in Kevin’s lap and can look at his boyfriend’s face upside down. The numbers on the TV count down the seconds until the next episode starts.

“What?” Kevin says sleepily, then clears his throat to get rid of the roughness. “I’m just tired.” He pauses as his thoughts seem to catch up with him. “ _The_ royal family?”

“I pledged allegiance the moment I first saw prince Harry on TV,” Connor says, smiling pleasantly. “I was eleven.”

“The moment you meet a real-life Brit is the moment you leave me.” Kevin doesn’t sound concerned as much as he sounds a bit miffed. Connor’s smile turns into a grin; he rubs his cheek against Kevin’s arm, then stretches out before curling up, comfortable and warm.

“Stop falling asleep to my shows and I won’t,” he says, just as the next episode begins.


	7. Sharing an umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McKinley + Kevin, set in Uganda.

Connor’s heart jumps into his throat when he feels his heel slip away from him on the wet ground; a split second later he yelps when he falls. When the initial shock fades he takes a breath, grimaces when he feels the wet mud covering the seat of his uniform pants, and looks up at Elder Price. “I hate this.”

“What? Rain?” Elder Price asks with all the mildness of someone who is still safe and dry under the umbrella, then rearranges the numerous bags hanging from his hands and arms and holds out a hand for Connor to take. “Are you okay?”

“My pride isn’t.” Connor wipes his hand off on the thigh of his pants, there is no saving them from a wash now anyway, before accepting it, using it to haul himself to his feet. And it turns out that even now, when Connor is soaking wet and covered in mud, his heart flutters from the feeling of Elder Price’s warm hand in his. He is reluctant to let go but forces himself to, especially when Elder Price gives him a somewhat puzzled look. He feels the impending danger of a blush, so he turns his attention to the uncomfortable feeling of the mud covering the back of his pants. He wipes at them despite knowing how futile it is. “Nor are my clothes.”

“Oh.” Kevin rearranges all the bags again, picks up the ones he had let fall to the ground, and holds the umbrella out to invite Connor back under it again- not that there is much point to it anymore. The rainy season in Uganda offers some of the most violent rainfalls that any of the missionaries have ever experienced. Connor’s hair is already slicked over his forehead and water is getting in his eyes. “Well.”

“You’re not very encouraging,” Connor remarks, miffed, then catches the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “Do you think this is funny, Elder?”

Elder Price schools his expression. His poker face is rather bad. “Of course not.”

Connor snorts and before he can force his mind back into the mold that he reserves for being a district leader, he casually wipes his muddy palm over the front of Elder Price’s pristine white uniform shirt.

“Hey!”

“Oops.” Connor smiles at him cheerfully and bends down to pick up the plastic bags that he had dropped when he slipped. “Well, better get the groceries back to the mission building, eh?”

Elder Price stares down at the mud smeared over his chest, then raises his eyebrows defiantly, looking about as mature as a five-year old. “Fine. I _was_ smiling, because you look like a drowned rat.”

Connor’s mouth falls open. “Now hold on–”

He’s not sure exactly what he is planning to do, perhaps wipe his hands over Elder Price’s shirt once more, perhaps elbow him in the ribs (is he being inappropriate right now?); either way, the end result is that his feet slip in the mud again and he automatically reaches out for Elder Price to steady himself, causing the other boy to lose balance as well. The umbrella goes flying from Elder Price’s unsteady grip, bags fall to the ground, and they grab each other to keep from crashing to the ground.

They share a moment of panicked eye contact before they gain control of their feet again. Then, Connor begins to laugh.  

“Happy now?” Elder Price asks, straightening and letting go of his grip on Connor’s upper arms, the earlier petulance gone from his voice. He sounds surprisingly at ease with getting increasingly soaked. “I guess I deserved that, huh?”

His shirt is plastering itself to his chest, water is pouring from the tip of his nose, his shoulders are raised somewhat in discomfort, and Connor feels something stir in his chest again. He ducks his head and schools his expression, but is unable to do anything about the blush.

“Yeah. I mean, no.” He reaches for the umbrella that lies upside down on the ground, shaking it off. “I really didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Right,” Elder Price says, but makes a face like he is joking. It falters when Connor avoids meeting his eyes, and he sounds puzzled when he continues. “Uh. Like you said, better head back to the others, right?”

“Yes,” Connor says, grabbing the rest of the bags. _Elder Price is not interested_ , he reminds himself firmly. “Let’s hurry.”


	8. Craziness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McPriceley, established relationship, post-canon, post-Uganda. Alcohol and drunk characters are prominent in this part.

There is a first, early streak of dawn beyond the tall buildings to their right, and yet the streets are far from quiet. There is a group of girls not far from them that is shrieking with laughter, music is still pouring out from the bars and nightclubs, and Connor’s heart is swelling in his chest. Even surrounded by the city life, the sky is  _large_  and his body feels light and free. His head is still buzzing along with the music from the club and he sings along to it, shimmying his shoulders and not even caring about how silly he must look. “— _And we’re standing side by side!_ ”

“You’re shouting,” Kevin mutters, making an expression very similar to the one he usually makes when he thinks Arnold is being too loud, and Connor lowers his voice even as he keeps singing. Dancing along is a bit trickier; his movements don’t feel as sharp as they usually do. He holds on to Kevin for stability.

“Come on, dance with me.”

Kevin holds him up with an arm around him, and for a short moment Connor can see clearly enough to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, and he feels a stitch of guilt puncturing his cheer. Kevin is relatively sober, still, and even when he is drunk he doesn’t enjoy going out like this the way Connor sometimes does.

Connor hadn’t understood at first how much importance Kevin places on what other people thinks of him. It is not self-consciousness as much as a sense of pride; he dances with gusto in the privacy of their home, but once they go out his movements become stiff and indulgent. And yet he accompanies Connor sometimes, if only because he knows how much Connor loves to let loose,  _really_  loose. Because Connor has spent enough time in his life lying to himself and reining himself in: now he finds a particular delight in being as tacky, wrong and _free_ as he can possibly manage.

The guilt he feels for being so unnecessarily  _drunk_  is dulled by the two, or five, drinks he had indulged in tonight; they are still sticky sweet on his lips. He attempts to give Kevin a spin, but it is a clumsy movement at best; Kevin isn’t prepared and ends up caught under his arm. “Oops.”

“I think I’d better lead.” Kevin runs his fingers through his hair to fix where it had gotten messed up.

“I’m better at it than you,” Connor boasts, but obediently re-positions his hand to Kevin’s shoulder instead.

“It was hypothetical, not an offer,” Kevin protests, then smiles a little reluctantly and turns around to face Connor properly. He glances around them for a second, then begins to spin Connor around to some undefined beat that doesn’t quite match the rhythm in Connor’s head. The streetlights whirl into wheels of light above his head and he thinks he hears some passersby cheer them on.

“Woosh,” Connor says breathlessly after a moment, clinging to Kevin’s shoulders as his inebriated mind takes a moment to catch up with their movements. His breath probably smells like strawberry daiquiris, but Kevin just smells good and his chest is warm and solid. He pats at a dark patch he notices on Kevin’s chest. “Why is your shirt wet?”

“You spilled your drink,” Kevin reminds him; Connor frowns as he tries to remember, dabs at the sticky dampness but can’t recall any moments of “oops” and “oh sorry"s from tonight. He can remember Kevin voice, “are you out of your mind?” when Connor had tried to climb onto the bar, and he clearly remembers the cheers from their group of friends.

“But it’s the song,” Connor had complained. “– _As your shadow crosses mine, mine, mine._ ”

“It’s a warm night,” he says now instead, pleased, detaching himself from Kevin and nearly stumbling sideways off the sidewalk and onto the road. He throws his arms out. “We should go somewhere.”

“Yes, home.”

“I mean travel. Italy, Norway, Iceland,  _France_. The world is so large!” He gestures to the sky.

“Maybe not tonight.” Kevin slips an arm around Connor’s waist, steers Connor’s steps to keep him from stumbling. Connor squirms, almost but not quite ticklish, until Kevin adjusts his grip.

They walk in silence for a while, and Connor uses the time to reflect on the brilliance of life. There are certain discomforts nagging at him, things from their everyday lives, but they seem less significant now. He doesn’t notice when his eyes begin to droop, just that suddenly his cheek is resting against Kevin’s shoulder and his face feels slack. He is beginning to realize that he is going to have a headache tomorrow; it is already starting to dig into his temples, and the sugary sweetness in his mouth is being replaced with the lingering alcohol in the back of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters and tries to remember to keep his feet moving to match Kevin’s steps.

“For what?” Kevin sounds distant, as though he, too, is deep in thoughts.

The pinch of guilt is not quite as dulled now. “For being so drunk. Embarrassing.”

“You’re not embarrassing,” Kevin says with that mild voice that he uses when he is especially sincere. Connor loves that tone, loves how it is so entirely private.

Sometimes it is difficult to reconcile the person Kevin used to be with what he has become. It hasn’t been easy for him; not for either of them, but maybe that is just the way things are in life. They both respond by keeping their chins up; Connor through sheer force of will; Kevin by letting his worldview expand to accommodate for whatever happens. He may have left religion behind for the most part, but his way of thinking can be strikingly spiritual at times. Finding purposes and goodness in the world has always been how he gets by, and Connor will never stop feeling amazed that Kevin sees it in  _him_  enough to want to be around him, always.

“Even when I’m dancing on a bar?” Connor asks, yawning, hooking a finger in Kevin’s belt loop. “I’m tired.”

“I stopped you in time.“

Connor’s chest swells again; he presses a sloppy kiss to Kevin’s cheek. “My hero.”

Kevin’s arm tightens around his waist. “Let’s go home.”

Connor nods against his shoulder. He can hear people singing in the distance, and the music in his own head returns even though it’s a very different tune. He sings softly to himself and Kevin as they walk down the street, “– _I found love in a hopeless place–_ ”


	9. Never give anyone a fruitcake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such an old fic--one of my earliest for this fandom. McPriceley, established relationship, post canon, post-Uganda.

Kevin enters their apartment building in time to see his eighty-six year old neighbor begin to unload grocery bags from her walker. He automatically runs a hand through his hair, assessing how wet it is from the rain, and says, “Good evening Mrs. Glenn. Do you need help with that?”

She raises her head and looks a little confused, as though she hadn’t quite heard what he had said. When Kevin reaches out, however, she gratefully lets him take the bags. “Oh thank you, dear. It’s such a bother with the elevator.”

“It certainly is,” Kevin agrees, remembering to keep his voice a bit louder than he usually would in a normal conversation. Mrs. Glenn doesn’t ever mention it, but her hearing is not the best nowadays.

The elevator in their building has been out of order for several weeks now and will probably remain that way until after the Christmas holidays. They both live on the second floor, but even one single set of stairs must be complicated enough for someone who relies on a walker to move around in the city. Kevin patiently waits until Mrs. Glenn has pushed the walker away under the stairs where it will not be in the way, then he matches her steps as he follows her up the stairs. “So are you going to visit your daughter over the holidays?” he asks.

“They are actually going to be visiting me this year. Grandchildren and all.” Kevin thinks that Mrs. Glenn looks both pleased and a bit tired by the thought. She fumbles with the key to her front door for a moment before unlocking it. “What about you boys?”

“We’re going to visit my parents this year.” He toes his shoes off, grocery bags still in both hands, then walks ahead of her into the kitchen; he’s been here enough times to feel relatively familiar with the apartment. He sets the bags on the kitchen table. “There you go, Mrs. G.”

“Thank you, dear,” she says, stopping in front of him and reaching up to pat his cheek. “You’re a sweet boy.”

And Kevin, never one to deny praise, beams down at her, says, “Just glad to be of help.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She turns around and opens the door to her fridge and begins to look around. “Just a little something. I’m sure you boys will make better use of it than me.”

And Kevin feels his smile falter just a little because he knows what is coming, but he doesn’t have the heart to say no and thus he simply accepts the piece fruitcake, wrapped in aluminum foil. “Mrs. G, you really don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I want to. Merry Christmas now.”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Glenn. I hope you have a good one.”

Kevin lets himself out of the apartment and takes his shoes in his hand as he walks across the hallway to his and Connor’s own apartment. As he opens the door he is met by the tunes of one of Connor’s favorite Christmas music recordings; he feels his insides jump with a little bit of glee because it’s  _Christmas_  which means several days of good food, gifts, music, cozy lights and colorful decorations. He puts his shoes and jacket away, unwraps the scarf around his neck and heads into the kitchen to find Connor with his laptop by the kitchen table.

Kevin says, “Hey. Mrs. Glenn gave us the other half of the fruit cake.”

Connor looks up, makes a face somewhere between exasperated and amused because neither of them are particularly fond of fruit cake. “Maybe we can give it to your parents tomorrow?”

“Mom makes her own.” Kevin shrugs and tucks the cake away into the fridge together with the other half that they had been given last week when he had helped Mrs. Glenn to air her carpets. “Besides, I think Mrs. Glenn uses brandy in hers.” Which he doesn’t think would be particularly appreciated in the Price household.

“You have to stop being so nice to old ladies,” Connor teases, voice fond.

“It’s not my fault that old ladies like me,” Kevin protests, but has to admit to himself that he is kind of guilty as charged. He loves being able to help and he does like to bathe in the appreciation and praise it gives him. But hey, doesn’t everyone? “How’s the writing going?”

“Slow.” Connor grimaces, pushes the laptop away from him. He has been working on his thesis on social administration for some time now, juggling it with his part time job, and while he seems to approach the entire thing with an air of mild resignation, Kevin actually has no doubts that it’s going to turn out well. His boyfriend is structured and thoughtful and he always follows through; there is no way that Connor’s writing will not be received well by his supervisor.

Kevin searches the cupboards, finds a package of gingerbread cookies and brings it with him as he sits down by the kitchen table. “I told Mom we’d be there in time for dinner tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

They had spent Thanksgiving with Connor’s family, so Kevin’s parents had called dibs on Christmas. It’s going to be one of the big affairs with cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents; the kind that Kevin both loves and sometimes secretly hates because nowadays his extended family is so carefully _tolerant_  of him and Connor, as though they think tolerance is a virtue rather than the disguised prejudice it feels like. But then, that’s just the way things are nowadays, and Kevin thinks he can take one or two days of that brand of tolerance if it means that he can have the rest of the year to live his regular life with Connor.

Kevin nibbles on his cookie as he watches his boyfriend, who has already turned his attention back to the computer screen, a small frown forming between his eyebrows in concentration. He thinks about their gifts, wrapped and ready in their bedroom, some of them to each other, most of them gifts to younger cousins. For the adults in Kevin’s family they had opted for the easy way out and gone with gift cards; boring, but practical.

He thinks about the depressing weather, it is dark and raining and it’s entirely unsuited for the spirit of the twenty-third of December. But at least the kitchen is warm and there is Christmas music playing softly in the background, and they may not have their own Christmas tree but at least they have a ridiculous amount of tinsel and decorations to make up for it.

And tonight, he thinks, he’ll convince Connor to let the thesis be for the rest of the holidays and watch The Muppet Christmas Carol with him instead, even if that means he’ll probably have to watch Holiday Inn as well, in exchange. And maybe they’ll even get started on the Christmas candy, and they’ll get to sleep in tomorrow, and just, even with the disproportionate amount of fruit cakes in their lives, Kevin can’t help but love Christmas.


	10. Snuggling on the couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pricingham, established relationship, post-canon, post-Uganda.

Arnold thinks he might doze off for a bit because the next thing he is aware of, his head is fuzzy and his mouth tastes like he has been chewing on large wads of cotton. His ear is pressed against something warm that turns out to be Kevin’s upper arm, and it is not comfortable as much as it is disorienting. He yawns, a stitch of guilt piercing through the fuzziness.

“Did I snore?” he asks, immediately embarrassed by the roughness in his voice; he obviously _had_ been snoring. He sits up with mild regret, cold when he is not pressed against his boyfriend’s side.

Kevin doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. When Arnold looks at him, he realizes that Kevin’s head is tilted back and to the side; his eyes are closed and his mouth is slack and Arnold, well, Arnold doesn’t _know_ why that sends a piercing heat through his chest. He wants to lean close to Kevin again at the same time as he is afraid of disturbing him, he wants to wrap all of himself around his boyfriend like a blanket to keep him warm and safe.

He runs his tongue over the front of his upper teeth to try to get rid of the unpleasant sleep-taste in his mouth, then carefully leans close again, resting his cheek against Kevin’s shoulder, resting his arm across his chest.

Arnold thinks he might feel Kevin begin to stir just when the edges of his consciousness are beginning to blur, but, everything feels _good_.  


	11. Palate cleanser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon, set in Uganda. McPriceley.

“I’m not sick,” Kevin mutters incredulously when Elder McKinley takes one look at him when he sits down at the kitchen table and suggests that he should stay home and rest for the day. He rubs at his runny nose with the back of his hand before catching himself. “I’m never sick.”

Elder McKinley looks skeptical. “It’s probably just a cold. How you managed to catch one in this climate, I have no idea though.”

Kevin nose keeps running, and Kevin has never really understood the necessity of handkerchiefs until now because using his hand when sniffing is not enough is quickly becoming pretty disgusting. His throat hurts, too, and his head feels heavy, somehow, like it’s been stuffed with stones that make even thinking kind of troublesome. “No. I mean, I don’t get sick. Except for removing my appendix when I was twelve. And food poisoning when I was nine.” He shudders, both at the memory and at the sudden strangely cold feeling that is manifesting in the very core of his body.

“Welcome to the real world, then.” McKinley pats his back briefly while he passes Kevin’s chair on the way to the pantry. “You’ll feel better in a couple of days.” 

And if there is one sentence that summarizes Kevin’s two-week stay in Uganda, that is probably it, he thinks gloomily, leaning forward to rest his elbows against the kitchen table. Thus far he has spectacularly failed at what he had mentally prepared for and dreamed about his entire life, seen a guy get shot in the face, been physically assaulted by an African war lord, lost his entire world view, and started to haltingly develop a new one. On top of that, getting sick just feels like the final dusting of herbs over a well-cooked lasagna. He rubs at his temples, wishing there was some way to alleviate the pressure he feels there. “I guess I don’t feel well.”

The sound of Elder McKinley stirring in the pot quietens, and then there is a cool hand brushing Kevin’s hair back and resting on his forehead. It feels nice and soothing; he blinks up at Elder McKinley.

“Honey,” Elder McKinley says, and Kevin blinks at the term of endearment. Elder McKinley pauses as well, then shrugs in some sort of ‘ah well’ kind of gesture. He has been slowly settling into a new persona, Kevin has noticed, and that persona is nearly as cheerful as his previous, but it feels like he is continuously trying new phrases, mannerisms and gestures, as though trying to find a new self. Haltingly, almost like a baby deer taking its first steps, and it’s somehow both endearing and a little obnoxious.

“You have a fever,” Elder McKinley continues, removing his hand from Kevin’s forehead. “Get back to bed, and tell Elder Cunningham that he can proselytize with me and Elder Thomas today.”

“But–” Kevin protests, then blinks again when Elder McKinley pokes his nose and wags his finger at him.

“No buts. Besides, it would be selfish to spread this bug. Go back to your room before anyone else wakes up.”

“Are you grounding me?” Kevin asks, unsure if he’s exasperated, amused, or simply tired. He thinks that Elder McKinley’s cheeks might turn a little pink at the comment, but his authoritative posture doesn’t change.

“Get going. I’ll bring you some breakfast when it’s done.”

It feels surprisingly nice to give in. His head really is hurting, and he can’t seem to stop shivering despite the heat. “Fine. I’ll tell Arn–Elder Cunningham.”

“Get well soon,” Elder McKinley replies, turning back to the pot of porridge on the stove, while Kevin stands and begins to head back to his room, loosening his tie to get ready for bed again.


	12. Wearing the other's sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon, post-Uganda. Established relationship. McPriceley.

“Is it Sunday soon? The bed is cold without you.”

“That’s strange,” Kevin says. “You always complain that my hands and feet are cold.”

“That’s when they’re there to complain about.” Connor had prepared coffee out of pure habit this morning, but allowed himself to appreciate the comfort of the familiar scent before he poured it down the sink.

He doesn’t even remember the last time that he had slept alone in their apartment. And it is not that he can’t function without Kevin in his life for a couple of days, it just somehow feels like there is something fundamental that is missing. Like the air is less satisfying to breathe. “Are you eating properly? Are there any cute boys?”

A pause, then Connor can hear the confusion in Kevin’s voice. “I don’t want to look at other boys.”

Connor smiles a little. “Well, you can look for my sake. Apparently Jacksonville has the hottest guys in the US. Send photos.”

Now Kevin is starting to sound a bit miffed. “I don’t want you to look at other boys either.”

“Just teasing. Sorry.” Kevin is not a phone person, is either unable or unwilling to quite appreciate a conversation that doesn’t involve facial expressions or body language to help alert him of the intentions of the other person.

Connor brings his cup of tea into the tiny living room area, pulling the cardigan tighter around his body, burrowing into it. It is strange how a smell can be so entirely familiar and yet so difficult to describe. But it’s warm, and somehow just a little bit sexy in a very weird way that Connor files away for later consideration. He sighs into the phone.

“What?” Kevin asks, as though he had said something. Then, suspiciously, “Are you wearing my clothes again?”

“No,” Connor lies shamelessly, then some remaining scraps of religious guilt seem to kick in and he confesses, “Maybe. How did you know?”

“You kind of… sniff. Sometimes.”

“I do not.” How embarrassing. Does that make Connor a bit of a freak? He is the kind of guy that sniffs his boyfriend’s clothes when he is out of town. “Your grey cardigan is just really, really warm.”

“Right.” For such a skeptical response, Kevin’s voice is warm, and Connor knows that he is forgiven for teasing him earlier. There is another voice then, muffled, and Connor frowns as he tries and fails to discern the words.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Kevin says, then. “Text you later?”

“Good luck with your presentation,” Connor says, reaching out to take his cup. “I’d say give ‘em hell, but–”

“I get what you mean.” Kevin’s voice is dry “Well. Bye.”

“Love you,” Connor says, and there is a short pause before Kevin replies, almost shyly, like always.

“You too.”

There is a click as the call ends.

Connor sips on his tea, leans back on the couch and sighs again, huddling into the oversized shirt.


	13. Meeting each other at the airport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McPriceley, post-canon, established relationship.

Kevin’s hair is ruffled and he has a defined wrinkle between his eyebrows when he emerges from the secure area, and after that eight-hour delay even Connor has to admit that maybe his boyfriend has the right to be a bit crabby. Kevin doesn’t notice him at first, and for a moment Connor tries to watch him as though from the eyes of a stranger; tall, handsome, with a strong jaw and soft-looking chestnut-brown hair. His dress clothes are rumpled and he looks impatient, not entirely approachable, but perhaps Connor is biased because he still can’t help but think that there is something about Kevin that is almost magnetic. He can be pale and tired and grouchy, and yeah, Connor is not unbiased _at all_ , because he looks at his boyfriend and he just wants to make things better for him.

He can see the exact moment when Kevin spots him because some of the tension in his shoulders suddenly disappears. Connor waves, feeling himself break into a smile.

“Hi,” he says when Kevin approaches with his bag of carry-on luggage hanging from his shoulder. Kevin’s frown hasn’t eased, however. “You okay?”

“Headache,” Kevin mutters, then bends down to pull Connor into a hug without even taking the time to glance around to see if anyone is watching them, a sure sign of how exhausted he must be. And out of sympathy Connor tries very hard not to enjoy the hug too much, but there is just something so very sweet about it. Kevin may smell mostly of sweat and lingering traces of after-shave, but he is warm and he gives the most earnest hugs that Connor has ever received. Besides, Connor is practically _wired_ to enjoy Kevin’s touch.

“Caffeine?” Connor asks, but Kevin shakes his head against Connor’s ear.

“Just tired,” he says

Connor tightens his arms around his waist, resting his hands on his lower back, trying to communicate his sympathy though touch. “How was the wedding? Was Jack nervous?”

“It was good.” Kevin finally lets go and takes a step back, massaging his temples with his fingers. “And he was fine. Charlotte too.”

“That’s good. Gosh, I bet she was a lovely bride.” Connor has been seeing Kevin for almost five years, they have lived together for two, but Connor had not been invited to his semi-brother-in-law’s wedding. He doesn’t mind as much as he knows Kevin does, but at this point there is really no use talking about it anymore. But it is certainly adding insult to injury that Kevin had been expected to be both best man and hold a speech, something which he had been stressing out over for weeks.

But right this moment, Connor acknowledges that there is nothing he can do about that, so instead he takes Kevin’s hand and squeezes it; feels relief warm his chest when Kevin finally gives him a little smile.

“Let’s go home,” he says, and Kevin nods.


	14. Snow day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McPriceley, post-canon, established relationship.

“Wow, it’s really coming down now,” Kevin says as they trudge through the unplowed street, and then he kind of disappears from Connor’s side with an alarmed gasp.

Connor stops and turns, his own heart caught in his throat for a second, then has to stifle a laugh because Kevin does look rather disgraceful where he is sprawled in the snow, long limbs and all, looking somewhere between surprised and sheepish.

“Ice,” Kevin says, by means of a somewhat dazed explanation, steadying himself with one hand on the ground as he pulls himself into a proper sitting position.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Connor holds out a hand, which Kevin takes, and the ground is really too slippery under the new layer of snow for him to provide much leverage, but it’s the thought that counts, he thinks.

“I’m fine,” Kevin says, still sounding a bit miffed as he begins to brush himself off. Connor helps him, and obviously can’t keep his hands from brushing the snow from the seat of Kevin’s pants; Kevin, never really one for that type of contact, especially not in public, jumps in a way that is just entirely cute.

“Can’t have you get wet.” Connor grins, maybe a bit saucily, but that’s fine because he can do that with Kevin now. And he likes Kevin’s ass – really, who can blame him? It’s a fine ass, even if Connor saying so seems to continuously baffle Kevin’s sensibilities.

Kevin squirms away from Connor’s hand, looks like he is trying to give Connor an unimpressed look, but his eyelids flutter when tiny snowflakes keep getting caught in his eyelashes so it doesn’t quite have the intended effect. “Let’s just go home.”

And maybe Connor should feel bad for being amused at his boyfriend’s expense, but when Kevin is as high-strung as he is, it’s hard not to. But he also doesn’t want to truly make him angry, so Connor sticks his mittened hand in Kevin’s gloved one and squeezes until Kevin gives him a begrudging smile in return. “Yes, let’s.”


End file.
